“Shut up.”
They had been driving for only half an hour when the van turned into a narrow, winding lane with thickly planted trees on each side. They stopped in front of an old cottage with a thatched roof and window boxes filled with flowers.
Mirabelle spoke to the driver again and got an argument back. “We’ll be at the other end of the lane,” he said in English.
She swore under her breath and got out of the van.
Stone grabbed his duffel and followed her. The van drove back down the lane. “What was the argument about?”
“He didn’t want to leave us alone. I told him we weren’t going back tonight, but it didn’t seem to matter to him.”
She opened the unlocked front door, and they walked into a cozy living room, where a small fire blazed in the hearth. There didn’t seem to be a right angle in the room, but somehow, it looked like home.
“Hallo!” a woman’s voice called from another room, then a plump, motherly woman came into the room and conducted a brief conversation with Mirabelle in their native tongue, and she left again.
“Was that your mother?” Stone asked.
“No, but she thinks she is. That was Marie, who has been the family cook for centuries.”
“So this is a family cottage?”
“It is my cottage, bought with my money. My family has never been here, just Marie, and she is sworn to secrecy. It is my hideaway.”
“Why do you need a hideaway?”
“My life is frenetic. Here is peace.” She went to a corner bar and came back with a martini and a glass of bourbon for Stone. They sipped.
“This is Knob Creek,” he said. “How did you know, and where did you get it?”
“I’ve seen you drink it, and I know a spirits shop that stocks it.”
“You are good to me,” he said, and kissed her.
“Tomorrow night I will take you to a grand restaurant.”
“Tomorrow night, I’m afraid, I have to have dinner at the residence of our ambassador, and I was asked to come alone.”
“Ah,” she said, “the odd man.”
“Exactly.”
“She wants you for herself.”
“No, she just wants an odd man. We met only today, in her office at the embassy.”
“You wait—you will find yourself seated next to her, and there will be hanky-panky.”
Stone laughed.
“This is an American expression, is it not?”
“It is a universal expression, I think.”
“You will see, the woman has a reputation. She consumes men.”
“I am shocked, shocked that you would speak of our top diplomat in France in such a way.”
“And you are easy,” she said. “Madame Flournoy will have her way with you.”
“You make me sound helpless.”
“She will render you helpless. She knows what she is doing.”
“Where do you hear these things?”
“I’ve told you—my clients tell me everything. The ambassador is my client. She has spent much money with me and had many fittings. Women need to talk when they are being fitted.”